


Adventures in Navigating the Narnian Web

by Syrena_of_the_lake



Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:21:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28224558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrena_of_the_lake/pseuds/Syrena_of_the_lake
Summary: A little holiday gift for some wonderful friends, inspired once more by Snacky's Modern Narnia (museum!verse).Not really a content warning, but the story does poke brief, gentle fun at “Pevincest” — and other fandom phenomena in a Narnian context.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 23





	Adventures in Navigating the Narnian Web

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Snacky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snacky/gifts), [rthstewart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rthstewart/gifts), [Adaese](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adaese/gifts), [nasimwrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nasimwrites/gifts), [loveandrockmusic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveandrockmusic/gifts), [pencildragon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pencildragon/gifts).
  * Inspired by [A Visit to the Museum](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16135160) by [Snacky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snacky/pseuds/Snacky). 
  * Inspired by [Rack ‘n’ Roll](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20290912) by [Syrena_of_the_lake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrena_of_the_lake/pseuds/Syrena_of_the_lake). 



> A little holiday gift for some wonderful friends, inspired once more by Snacky's Modern Narnia (museum!verse). 
> 
> Not really a content warning, but the story does poke brief, gentle fun at “Pevincest” — and other fandom phenomena in a Narnian context.

“Find your aesthetic,” Charlene read aloud. The glasses perched on her long, hairy snout gave her an erudite air beyond even that of most capybaras. “Are you an autumn aesthete? Do you go for summer swordpunk? Do you prefer winter woodland or witchcore?” She flicked an ear. “This isn’t very scientific.”

The llama looming over her sighed gustily. “It’s not about _science_ , it’s about your inner _self_.” She lowered her ponderous, woolly head to gaze at the tablet screen. “I’m spring chic,” she said dreamily. “Or maybe clovercore.”

Charlene blinked, unimpressed.

“Summer swordpunk,” declared Lucy.

“That’s you,” agreed Edmund. “Sunshine and steel. What else does that say about her, Landry?”

The llama lowered her long eyelashes. “Her spirit is light, her sigil is the lioness, her relic is the rapier,” Landry intoned, her neck swaying. “And her personality is Type Vee reigning, Jay ascending.”

Lucy and Edmund exchanged puzzled looks. “What?” asked Lucy.

“Em, Gee, Jay, Vee,” recited Charlene dryly. “The four personality types according to popular tradition. They are _not_ based on Centaurian astrology,” she added.

Landry sniffed. “It’s the Golden Ratio,” she said portentously. “ _I’m_ an Em reigning, of course, most llamas are. Gee ascending.”

“I still don’t understand,” said Lucy. “What are the four personality types?”

Astonished, Landry’s head shot upright and nearly hit the ceiling. “You don’t know your archetype?” she exclaimed. “How do you know how to avoid miscommunication and heartache?”

Charlene closed her eyes. “Not everyone learns how to navigate life via horoscope.”

Landry ignored her and looked at the humans, her large eyes brimming with pity. “Type Vees are curious and courageous,” she explained, “and Jays are fair-mined and thoughtful. Gees are known for their kindness and consideration, and Ems are, well...”

“Magnificent?” guessed Edmund in a strangled voice.

“Well, yes.” Landry ducked her head modestly.

“Vee for Valiant,” Lucy said numbly. “Jay for Just, Gee for Gentle.”

“And Em for Magnificent,” finished Landry. “Like all llamas. But don’t feel bad,” she added earnestly when Lucy put her head in her hands, “Valiant and Just are wonderful qualities in humans. Why, your type is just like the renowned Llama Lady Liln! That’s something to be proud of.”

“Undoubtedly,” said Edmund. “Do you hear that, sister? You’re Valiant like the Llama Liln.”

Lucy’s shoulders shook, and she hiccuped.

Charlene sighed.

* * *

At the Library, which was everything Susan had wanted in any world, research took a different turn.

“I never looked anything like that,” grumbled Peter as they passed yet another stern statue.

“I don’t know.” Susan tilted her head back to peer up at it. “That is a Most Royal Frown.”

“The beard has braids, Su. I’m not a Dwarf.” Peter proved his point by almost hitting his head on the archway.

“But the People under the Mountain have taken you as their own. Surely you must see that?”

Peter sighed. “Of course I do. But...”

Susan heard the unspoken words. _How am I ever to measure up to that?_

“He is very tall,” she said judiciously, patting the stone knee, which was as high as she could reach without standing on tiptoe.

Peter snorted.

“You must have seemed so to the Dwarves, once.”

Peter sighed. “It’s just... why are doing this, Susan? Why are we trying?” He sounded so unlike her brother and her king — the boy who saved the world, the man who never gave up on anyone or anything, even when he should have — that Susan felt a rush of fear and battle-adrenaline.

“What do you mean?” she asked carefully.

“Why are we trying to reclaim our old legacy?” In deference to their surroundings, Peter’s voice grew even more solemn and quiet. “They have what they need from us, and it’s larger than life. Narnia fares well. They have no modern need for kings and queens. Why not simply live as barristers and activists and so on, like we did in England? Why this need to prove ourselves, again? I have no need for glory.”

It was the longest speech Susan had heard from him since he had retired from Parliament.

“Aslan called us here for a reason.” Susan held no doubts about that. She was Queen Susan of the Horn, and knew what it was to be called.

“But is that reason to rule?” Peter countered.

Susan wished Edmund were here. These conversations had never led anywhere positive when she was involved. Somehow she and Peter managed to touch off each other’s deepest-seated insecurities. Susan bit her lip.

“You may be right,” she admitted. “I was so certain in England, about how we were meant to apply our gifts _there_. But the thought of starting from nothing, as children, _again_... it is daunting. So we start small.”

Peter looked pointedly at the stone version of himself looming above them.

Susan punched him lightly the arm. “ _Research_ , Peter. We learn more about the modern Narnia. Then we talk about how we fit in.”

“Research,” groaned Peter. “Why didn’t you bring Edmund?”

“Because he would disappear down a rabbit hole somewhere between _Li_ and _Lu_ and we wouldn’t see him again for a week.” Susan tugged her brother along. “And I need someone strong to carry all my books. Put those muscles to use, brother.”

Peter yielded with good-natured grumbling, and Susan let her breath out slowly and softly. Now all she had to do was find a rabbit hole that Peter would willingly dive down, so she could conduct her own research in peace.

She hoped genealogy was as big a craze here as it had been in America. She had heard a commercial on the wireless for a promising website called GenTree. Susan had rolled her eyes at the premise — _really_ , the idea that everyone was descended from royalty was absurd, there had never been that few humans in Narnia except during the Witch’s winter, and she and her siblings had hardly spent their reign producing enough children to populate a whole generation of offshoots. Not to mention the so-called historical reenactment television series. (She had already written three scathing letters about the portrayal of her flight from Tashbaan on “Keeping up with the Tarkhaans,” and another five about the general portrayal of Calormenes and nonhuman Narnians.)

But if any of them _did_ have living descendants, well... what then?

_First, research._

Susan sent Peter on a hunt for information on the current system of government, which would surely occupy him for a while. Then she found a computer, opened the web browser and typed in the first few letters of her query. Autocomplete yielded “descendants of Peverell,” “decadence of PeWee Hamster,” “dissidents of Paravel” and finally “descendants of Pevensies.”

Susan sighed. If nothing else, she could probably get a job as a Webmistress and fix the library’s search algorithms.

* * *

“And what have you been doing all day, Reepicheep? Were you researching with Susan or scouting on your own?” Peter put his pen down, grateful for the excuse to flex his cramped hand. His body was built for sword and shield, not nib and notebook. _Aslan guide me_.

But Reepicheep didn’t answer. Now that Peter peered closer, the Mouse looked almost shell-shocked.

“Reep?”

“Later, if you please, Your M—”

“All right,” Peter said hurriedly. It was unlike Reepicheep to be so indiscreet. He must have discovered something truly startling.

He murmured as much to Susan on their way back to their shared flat. His sister, too, seemed distracted. She kept _giggling_. It was unnerving.

“What’s the big secret?” demanded Lucy the moment they walked in the door. She was perched on the arm of her easy chair, surrounded by starcharts and illustrated cards. Edmund was vacuuming llama hair off the couch.

“You may wish to sit down, Your Majesties.” Reepicheep smoothed his fur. “I have read some distressing things on the Narnian Web.”

Peter sat on the floor. Susan commandeered the vacuum and sat on the couch. Edmund stubbornly remained standing, but he slouched against the wall.

“There are many, ah, historical inaccuracies in, uh, popular literature,” Reepicheep stammered. “And these are a topic of much contention and, er, speculation in the forums. Which are like Calormene fora, only their use is not exclusive to poetry recitals and imperial proclamations—”

“We had a web in our world too, Reep,” Edmund interrupted. “What are you trying so hard not to tell us?”

“I bet it’s RPF,” laughed Lucy.

Peter frowned and tried to parse this. Several of his grandnieces back in England had mentioned it, he thought. Some kind of writer’s workshopping group?

“What does that stand for?” he asked.

“Royal Pevensie Fanfiction,” said Susan. Reepicheep winced with every word.

Lucy’s forehead wrinkled. “I’m certain that’s not what it meant in our other world.”

“Nevertheless.” Susan took a deep breath. “Here in Narnia, the Golden Age is an entire genre of fiction, and even outside that, our historical personages are an entire genre of... imaginative retellings.”

“Historical fiction,” said Peter, feeling on firmer ground.

Susan grinned. “If you like. But with considerably more sex than I remember.”

Peter blinked. “ _More_ sex?” he asked, just to be certain. “With whom?”

“Anyone.” Susan waved a languid hand, indicating the world at large. “Everyone. Including each other.”

Reepicheep covered his eyes with one paw. Lucy squeaked. Edmund shot bolt upright and hit his head on a shelf.

“ _Not again_ ,” said Peter with great feeling.

“It has a name now,” Susan added helpfully. “Pevincest. I found it during my genealogical research. Most illuminating.”

“You are taking it most calmly, High King,” Reepicheep offered. “I was ready to duel the Dryad who told me of this phenomenon, but of course Your Majesties forbid my carrying a sword.” He looked at Peter reproachfully.

Peter hid a grin of his own behind a Most Royal Frown. “This misunderstanding has happened before,” he told the Mouse. “Dryads have different ideas about procreation compared to most mammals. We did not take offense then, nor shall we do so now... hang on a minute, Su, what do you mean it has a name?”

“It’s an online festival in spring. Thousands of people gather on the web to exchange stories they’ve written and artwork they’ve drawn. Oh, and they roleplay,” she added blandly.

Peter cleared his throat. “Modern Dryads are considerably more advanced in creative pursuits than they were in our day.”

“Oh, it’s not just Dryads. Narnians of all species participate, and apparently international participation is growing in Calormen, Archenland and Galma.” Susan delivered all this with a straight face, but her eyes were dancing.

“Just wait until you find out about the furries.” 

Reepicheep let out a heartfelt groan. “If Aslan meant a man to be a Mouse, then the Lion would have given him a proper tail! I know He would, because He has done it before. I mean no discourtesy to Your Majesties, but this — this _fur-swapping_ is—!” His whiskers quivered with unexpressed emotion.

Peter cast about for something to say.

“Oh, we have them in our world too!” said Lucy. “No disrespect is intended, dear Reepicheep. Only heartfelt admiration. I mean, what human would _not_ wish to be a valiant Mouse if they could?”

Reepicheep’s ears perked up. “When you put it that way, Queen Lucy... I suppose I cannot blame them for trying to be something more than themselves, if only for a few hours at a time. Humans and Mice are indeed kin at heart.”

Peter twitched at the word _kin_ and glared at Susan, silently willing her not to subject their brave knight to any more _modernity_ today. She smiled modestly, which filled him with the gravest of forebodings.

“I’m going back to the Library,” announced Peter.

“Let me guard your back, High King!” Reepicheep hastily snatched his cap and straightened his belt. Before they could complete their retreat, however, Edmund’s cheerful voice delivered one last blow:

“I have a quiz for you when you get back, Peter. Just think — we can find out what animal represents your aura, just by choosing your favorite Anonymoose songs.”


End file.
